I AIN'T DEAD YET!
You ever had that feeling that you've made an almighty mistake? Well I have. When I had the opportunity to move to the chocolate box like village where I live, I jumped at the chance. Having lived in the inner city at the time, I had made the jump from being the irritating noisy neighbour, to having one.
I'd lived on a busy road surrounded by pubs and clubs for nearly 15 years, where I had successfully avoided being barred, just by the skin of my teeth I may add. Don't get me wrong I loved this period of my life and I wasn't doing anyone any harm just being young, drunk and an arsehole! First out last home. I'd don my raving gear and hunt down free raves in a car loaded with pilling buddies swearing blind we could here music. It could have been the wipers, everything sounded like music. We'd often get down to our own tinnitus.
Id have a house full of drugged up revellers, getting in at 9am on a good day, getting the Jungle on and swigging back whatever alcohol we could get are hands on from the local Asian shop. The music was probably pounding but you think your being quiet, you know what I mean. As I h-hum matured, the raves and pills died out replaced by heavy drinking sessions and a little powder, again with loud music and a house full of people clattering about. My God if I was my neighbour I would have hated me.
I digress, we can touch more on these glorious days in future blogs. I may even pop half a pill when writing, to get into full creative flow. Yeah right, I'm to petrified to even take a quarter, I'd end up sectioning myself at the local mad house with just the anticipation of 'Coming up'. Now, I wouldn't even risk half a herbal Nytol after a shandy in fear of not waking up again. The point I'm trying to get to is, have I gone to far the other way, have I got old before my time? Can a once hard core party animal move to the country side for the quiet and scenery and still have a good quality of life?
After the birth of my two youngest I was forced to calm down quitting the drugs, drinking and fags, and to be honest I didn't give a shit I quite enjoyed the enforced abstinence. In fact I thank God for it. I mean who knows where I may have ended up. I could have been one of those old wrinkly alcoholic women that prop up the bar at the local shit hole, regularly pissing them selves and sleeping with any takers. Oh no, I did that when I was in my teens, that box is ticked then. (That reminds me, I'm out Friday)
So having sorted out my act, calming it down, moving to the country to be away from those God awful neighbours who played their music at 11pm, I know 11pm, disgusting. Why am I not content? Is it the fact that my daughter of 23, (I know looking at my photo you'd never have believed it, I had her when I was 12 you know) refers to the village as the nearly dead club. Is it the fact that I and a neighbour younger than myself (a mere 45), spent half an hour Saturday staring from my front window, tea in hand, watching and counting as her 7 pigeons circled by again and again before returning to their loft in her garden.
I need to get to the bottom of this and during the lifetime of this blog I'll peel back the layers to get to the inner core of my being. Crikey the blog will only last two weeks then, I ain't that deep! Any way after much thought and annihilation, I mean analysis, I will make the decision whether I should stay or go?
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